A Place To Call Home
by firstcatfish
Summary: The MoL bunker still has some surprises as Sam and Dean discover while working to decorate Sam's room. Tag Story to Slumber Party - 9x04


A Place to Call Home

Rating: K  
Warnings: general sappiness and some spoilers for 9x04  
Summary: The MoL bunker still has some surprises as Sam and Dean discover while working to decorate Sam's room. Tag Story to _Slumber Party_ - 9x04  
Disclaimer: I don't own the Supernatural characters and make no money off of them. Opening dialogue is taken directly from season 9 episode 4, Slumber Party.

"Think she'll be back," Dean asked with a small smile as he and his brother looked down the tunnel leading to the surface and the hidden entrance to the bunker.

Sam smiled and heaved a sigh as he thought of Charlie off to find her quest. At least she had Dorothy to look after her. "Of course," he replied. Then he quirked a mischievous grin at his brother as he quoted, "There's no place like home."

Dean smiled back and huffed a small laugh before turning around. Together the brothers surveyed the vast garage with the classic cars, motorcycles, and…was that a boat covered by a tarp in the corner?

"How did we miss this place?" Dean asked in continued awe, running his hand lightly over the car nearest them.

Sam took a moment to respond as he too looked over the latest surprise the Men of Letters' bunker had offered. "I doubt we have discovered even half of this place, dude. But it makes sense that they would have transportation to let them get to the latest crisis quickly."

"Transportation?" Dean sounded almost offended. "These cars are like the gems of creation."

"Gems of creation?" Sam snorted a laugh. Only cars could make his brother wax poetic. Dean ignored him as he moved from car to car, obviously trying to decide where to start. Sam watched him in amusement for a moment before starting for the door to the rest of the bunker. "Well, I'm going to leave you to mine these gems in peace. I want to check out the spell Dorothy used to seal herself and the witch in the bottle. It might prove useful later."

Dean gave him an absent wave as he popped the hood on a 1950 Ford convertible. Sam wasn't even sure his brother had heard him, so he left him to his happy place and went to the library to begin searching for the spell. Pausing for a moment in the doorway, he surveyed all the books and breathed deeply the smell of ancient parchment. He knew how his brother felt. This place truly was a treasure trove…but a home?

Abruptly losing interest in the books he wandered back to his room and looked at it with new eyes, seeing it as Charlie and Dean must have seen it. A bed, a simple dresser, and a lamp. The walls were bare and gave the feeling of a prison cell. No rugs carpeted the cold cement floor and the duffle bag tucked half under the bottom of the bed was the only sign that anyone lived here. He had to admit that it was somewhat depressing, but…

He jumped slightly as he heard the click of footsteps down the hall and felt his brother's presence at his back looking at the room with him. A smudge of grease already marked Dean's nose and he was carrying the toolbox he had lugged into the kitchen yesterday to fix to a leaking pipe. Dean didn't say anything, just looked around the room as he waited for his brother to break the silence.

"I've never really had my own space before," Sam said quietly, refusing to look at his brother. "I'm not even sure how to…" he trailed off, uncertain how to continue. How to what? Decorate it? Move in? Make it a home? It wasn't like he had much of anything to move in. Most of his clothes were put neatly away in the dresser. The other few items he cared about were stored securely in the trunk of the Impala, the only home he had ever known. What was left to do?

Dean moved past him into the room and looked around critically before leveling his gaze on his brother. "A room should reflect the personality and character of the person living there," he said slowly. "What is it you like most?"

The question was rhetorical, designed to make Sam think. But instead of answering, he gazed thoughtfully back towards the library and the precious books there. From the moment they had moved into the bunker, he had felt more at home in that room than any other.

Dean nodded as though he had said all that aloud. Squeezing his brother's upper arm in passing, he moved out into the corridor and jerked his head for Sam to follow him. "Come on. I think I saw something in a room off the garage that might help."

The garage? Sam pursed his lips and lifted his eyebrows thoughtfully before gamely following his energetic brother. When Dean got an idea in his head, he would worry at it like a terrier until it was resolved to his satisfaction. He might as well go along for the ride. A tickle of curiosity quickened his step as he hurried to catch up with Dean.

A minute later, though, he stared without comprehension at the room filled with tools. Shelves lined the walls with different sizes of boards while bins held smaller pieces of wood of all shapes and sizes. Sawdust and the dust of time covered everything making Sam sneeze as their entrance stirred things up. Dean hummed with satisfaction as he headed to a set of shelves containing boards of about 6 different types of wood.

"What kind of wood do you like?" Dean asked, pulling out a couple pieces for comparison. "This oak has an interesting grain pattern, but the maple has a nice color."

Sam looked from the wood to his brother. "For what?" He asked uncomprehendingly.

"Bookshelves, Sam," Dean replied almost impatiently. "I figure we can build some bookshelves along the south side of your room, maybe even build in a place for an entertainment system. Sure would beat wheeling in that ancient TV every time we want to watch something."

"But there are books in the library if I want to read, Dean," Sam said patiently. "Why would I put more in my room?"

"I know you read more than just books on the supernatural, Sam," Dean replied, his lips quirking a little. "I remember how you used to mourn all of the books you had to leave behind every time we had to move as kids." More quietly, he added, "And I saw the bookshelves in the living room at your place in Palo Alto, dude. Those weren't all school books."

Sam looked away at the reminder of the home he had shared with Jessica. That had been the first time he had allowed himself to collect books for the sheer pleasure of owning them. They were all gone now, up in flames with the rest of his dreams. He hadn't even collected any books in the house he and Amelia had rented. She had had enough for the both of them, and even then he had been afraid to make things too permanent. Considering how that had turned out, he'd been right not to put down too many roots.

But to have books of his own again…books to read for pleasure and not just for the job. The idea was almost too enticing to resist. Practicality and doubt won out again, however, as he gave his brother a dubious look. "Even if I had books to put on the shelves, which I don't, I have no idea how to go about building a bookshelf or anything else for that matter."

"I do." At Sam's surprised and slightly incredulous look, Dean shrugged. "I worked construction when I was living with Lisa and Ben." The flash of pain across his face would only have been seen by someone who knew to look for it, it was gone so fast. Sam's gut clenched at the reminder that his brother too had faced the loss of a woman he loved.

"One of the guys I worked with handled the carpentry for the company and he was teaching me how to make some simple pieces when…" he shrugged and turned his back on Sam to continue pulling out wood samples. "I'm not saying it will be store quality stuff, but it should do the trick." He looked uncertainly over his shoulder at Sam as he added, "Unless you'd rather buy something."

A surge of protectiveness filled Sam at the brief look of insecurity on his brother's face and his lips tightened with determination as he pointed to the board his brother had identified as maple. "I like that one," he said firmly. The grin that brightened Dean's face warmed him to his gut as he helped his brother put the other samples back and pull out more of the maple, enough to build a bookcase or three.

Once he held a couple boards in each hand, he turned uncertainly to face the machines. "Now what," he started to ask when his brother slapped something against his chest. Looking down, he saw a pair of safety goggles. His brother already sported a pair and as he took them slowly, Dean grabbed the boards from Sam's left hand and moved enthusiastically forward to begin looking over the machines.

After taking some simple measurements of the wall in Sam's room, Dean was able to sketch out a rough idea for the wall to wall bookshelves they were going to build together. It took a couple of tries and a close call with one of the saw blades, but Dean was soon working with the antique equipment like he had been doing this all his life.

At first, Sam leaned against the wall with a small smile of pleasure as he watched his brother work. Dean had been looking tired lately, the weight of all they had to deal with draining his energy and souring his mood. But there was a spark in his eyes now even as he alternated cursing at and kicking a stubborn machine.

When Sam let out a bark of laughter, Dean decided that his brother needed something better to do than "supervise". In a few minutes, Sam found himself settled at a work table with a freshly cut piece of maple in front of him and a piece of sandpaper in his hand. Dean showed him how to rub the sandpaper with the grain of the wood until it felt as smooth as silk. It felt strange and awkward until he figured out how to secure the paper around a block of discarded wood so that it fit more naturally into the palm of his hand.

As he worked, he closely examined the room around him. Every time he thought he'd seen it all, the bunker surprised him again. A carpentry shop, however, kind of made sense. The Men of Letters would need the ability to fix things that broke since they wouldn't have brought in outside help to do it. Something else occurred to him, though, as he looked down at the piece of wood in his hands.

"Dean," he said thoughtfully as he turned the board over to begin working on the other side. "Doesn't it seem strange to you that all of this wood is in such good condition?"

Dean glanced over at him from where he was measuring a board for one of the long side pieces. He shrugged. "It's not really been _that_ long since this place was in use and the rooms are relatively dry and bug free. But…" He trailed off and stared sightlessly at the mark on the wood where he planned to cut.

"But…?" Sam prompted. His eyebrows popped up in curiosity at the quick look of embarrassment and…guilt?...that crossed his brother's face.

"I think this place is a bit like a stasis box," Dean answered slowly. He dragged the long board over to one of the saws. At his brother's snort, he growled defensively, "What? I read."

Sam laughed and moved over to hold the board steady as Dean cut it to size. When the roar of the machine died down, he nudged his brother to continue. "What do you mean?"

"Well, when we got here, I checked out the kitchen and I found food in the refrigerator."

"Eww," Sam said, nose wrinkled in disgust.

"That's what I thought at first, too, but it was fresh, Sam." He shrugged again at his brother's look of blatant disbelief. "I know, but I'm serious. How do you think I made supper that first night since neither of us had had a chance to go the store? At first I thought we were wrong about how long it had been since someone had been in here, but everything else was so obviously undisturbed…"

"So," Sam said thoughtfully, "you think time….what? Just stops in here when we leave? I guess that's no weirder than our cell phones being untraceable."

"I tested it the other day," Dean admitted somewhat sheepishly. "Remember when we went to Pittsburg last month on that hunt that took over two weeks to finish?" At Sam's nod, he blurted, "The milk was still good."

"The milk was…." Sam stopped as realization hit him. "You drank it?" he said in astonishment.

"I was thirsty," Dean said defensively, turning to the shelves to grab another piece of wood. "And we were out of beer."

"Huh," Sam said thoughtfully as he headed back to his work table. It was an interesting concept. Maybe he could find something in the MoL archives later. Either that or they could experiment a bit more. It would be interesting to find out if the stasis thing worked only when they left and locked the bunker or was continually in effect. Shelving the idea for later, he returned his focus to the pieces of wood in front of him.

In a shorter time than Sam believed possible, he was standing in his room next to his brother looking over the finished set of bookshelves. He couldn't deny the feeling of pride and possessiveness he felt looking at them even as he rotated his shoulders to ease the ache from the unaccustomed work of the last few days. Looking to the side, he found his brother watching him for his reaction.

Dean gave him a warm smile and returned his gaze to the bookshelves. "Well, they're not professional grade," he stated thoughtfully.

"They're perfect," Sam interrupted roughly, his eyes finding the dings and gouges where they had had various mishaps with the wood. They gave the pieces character and represented all of the hard work the brothers had put into them.

At a thump from behind him, he turned to find his brother lugging a largish box into the room. His eyes glinted with mischief and anticipation as he stepped back and indicated that Sam should open the box. Sam's eyebrows nearly climbed into his hair as he opened the flaps and spotted the dozens of books crammed inside.

"The Friends of the Library were having a book sale when I went by the public library yesterday," he said, almost shyly. Sam swallowed hard as he pulled out several books he remembered loving as a child. "I almost called you," his brother continued, "but I wanted these first ones to be a surprise. The sale is still going on today, so we can back and look for some more if you like." He cleared his throat nervously as he waited for his brother to respond. "Sam?" he asked uncertainly.

Sam looked up at his brother with a brilliant smile as he let all of the love and gratitude he felt shine in his eyes. Dean reddened a bit and began shuffling his feet, but there was a definite smug pride in the smile he sent back to his little brother. "Why don't you put these on the shelves while I go rustle up some lunch," Dean said as he turned to head out the door. "Maybe we can even look at a new TV while we're out there. Gotta be something to do in here other than geeky, nerdy stuff or I'll never come back," he called cheekily as he headed down the hall.

Sam laughed softly as he grabbed the first handful of books and took them over to the bookshelves to arrange. His bookshelves. His books. His room. The thought hit him like a punch in the gut as he looked around. Most of the room was still bare and unappealing. He needed a new mattress, some rugs on the floor, maybe a couple pictures, but he realized suddenly that he was ready to start making this room his own.

Maybe it _was_ possible for him to have a home. And even if it wasn't to be, even if all of this went up in flames tomorrow…he looked thoughtfully toward the door and the one who had disappeared through it a couple minutes earlier. As long as he had Dean, he could start all over again and make another home.

Because, there really was no place like home.


End file.
